


Stone Heart

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-human, First Time, Gargoyles - Freeform, Halloween, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New York City, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 15:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16349423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: Rodney makes the strangest friends. This one has a heart of stone.A SHMOOPY SPOOPY HALLOWEEN STORY FOR MY SGA PALS.





	Stone Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/gifts).



> This puppy has been a long time coming. Many thanks to co-collaborator Mific for the wonderful art and beta! Also my brain twin Mischief for the encouragement. Thanks, gottalovev for my Québécois! Last but very much not least, thank you, Siriaeve, for the outlandishly awesome Medieval French research as very specifically pertains to Gothic churches, Irish stonemasons, monks, gargoyles, cursing and such. Siri, your brain is a fabulous place.

[](http://www.squidge.org/~esteefee/gargoyle_john1.jpg)

There were a lot of things Rodney hated about his new lecturing position at Columbia University's physics department. The oppressively humid weather even in Fall; the annoying students who thought they already knew everything there was to know about astrophysics; the terrible coffee in the Columbia Astrophysics Laboratory lounge, to name a few. But one thing he did enjoy about his new situation was his office in the Department of Mathematics, Science, and Technology building, a crazy Frankenstein of a gothic brick edifice that was originally constructed, near as Rodney could tell, back before the turn of the century. The facade of the old building was still there along with the shiny retrofitting of the new.

Rodney discovered this when he first ducked an annoying student by climbing out his office window and onto the protected courtyard on the roof—a tall, wide parapet sheltered his office from the wind, and leaning over the parapet was the most extraordinary gargoyle Rodney had ever seen. Its stone visage was almost human, if you could ignore the jagged spikes of either hair or horns poking above its pointed ears. Its sloped shoulders were muscular but not bestial, and its clawed hands clutched the edge of its plinth as if perched before flight—the broad wings spreading from its well-muscled back were gloriously wide and arched as if already cupping the wind. It had a knobby, whip-like tail that featured an arrowhead point.

It was a charming discovery to make; Rodney felt quite proprietary about it and brought a chair out to spend the heated August afternoon cooling on the roof, the gargoyle a comforting presence at Rodney's back, sheltering him from the sun as he took his office hours while grading the pop quiz he'd thrown his second day of class.

"Oh, this is a good one," Rodney said, thumping the gargoyle on the tail. "I think this kid cried so hard he left tear marks on his bluebook."

"Dr. McKay? Dr. McKay?" A knocking came from his office door, and Rodney pushed himself to his feet with a groan. Stupid students.

"Later," Rodney said, giving the gargoyle's wing a little stroke. The weathered granite was smooth and satisfyingly cool to the touch. Rodney went back to his office with a sigh.

The doctoral students at Columbia were no more or less stupid than his students at MIT, Berkeley, or Edinburgh had been, the only difference being the thin veneer of hipster smarm slathered over their traditional geekish insecurity. They still expected Rodney to spoon-feed them explanations of each concept in a variety of methods until Rodney lost all patience and sent them whimpering back to their textbooks. 

Six lectures later, Rodney had settled in nicely and sipped his crappy CAL coffee on his private deck chair in the shelter of the gargoyle's wing while going over the latest article on the High Energy Focusing Telescope Columbia was in the process of building. Summer had finally relinquished its hazy grip and let Autumn's cooler hand prevail, and Rodney let out a happy sigh and scratched his shoulder against his gargoyle's knobby tail. 

"Of course, I was the one who contacted Felton about introducing focusing optics above twenty kiloelectronvolts. They weren't getting anywhere with such fuzzy data. But I told them to use the hard X-ray/soft gamma-ray band. That's why they invited me here," Rodney revealed to his sculpted pal. 

Gargoyles made excellent confidants. They never talked back, for one thing. 

"But now, with maybe one worthwhile student in each seminar, I'm wondering what I'm doing here when I could be making big bucks in the private sector. I'm a little young to be devoting myself to pro-bono work." He detected a faint air of disapproval from his stony friend. "Not that I'm all about the Benjamins," Rodney equivocated. "I just like to feel appreciated; and there's little doubt you're valued when people are throwing money your way."

There. That was definitely a disgruntled air. Although what a stone statue would know about academic vindication, Rodney would like to know.

"Okay. I'm definitely feeling the lack of caffeine, here. I'm getting positively loopy." Rodney finished a final notation in the article and then closed the journal. "Until tomorrow, Gustave." For some reason, he'd named the gargoyle 'Gustave.' He could be a Gus, anyway—something about the arched eyebrows and the full lips. And now, Rodney was edging into demented territory. He couldn't possibly find gargoyles attractive. They weren't his type. 

"There has to be someone in the physics department desperate enough to offer me a blowjob," Rodney said under his breath as he hefted himself to his feet using the bony tip of the gargoyle's wing for balance. "Thanks for the assist," he said, giving Gus a pat on the thigh before ducking back over the window sill and into his office.

A heavy gust of wind had Rodney quickly closing his window, and then a student popped up at his door and it was back to the tedium of office hours.

It didn't occur to him until he was half-asleep that his window was sheltered; there shouldn't have been any wind at all. 

:::

"Dr. McKay! Dr. McKay! So good to have you here."

"Ah. Dr. Zelempi, is it?" Rodney looked away from the menu at Joe Coffee and identified his coworker, the squirrely physicist who worked down the hall in the science building. 

"Zelenka. Radek Zelenka."

"Right." Rodney saw an open register and jumped for it. "A tall, and I mean grande, regular coffee. With sugar. To go, thank you." He dug into his pocket for a bill.

"You do know if you ask for a regular coffee in this city, that means specific amounts of cream and sugar?" 

"What? What are you on about?" 

"Regular coffee—that means with milk and two sugars. Or with cream and sugar, depending on how high end the place is." Zelenka nodded at Rodney's cup, which was being shoved over the counter. Sure enough, it was disgustingly creamy-looking.

"Ugh. Here, you take this one. May I have another? Plain coffee, sugar only? I have no idea how to order that. Why would someone need a secret code to order—"

"Ask for black," Zelenka said, amused. "And simply to save time, I think. New Yorkers don't seem to have an abundance of it."

"Well, now he's had to make me two cups of coffee, so I'd say he's wasted it," Rodney grumbled, and doubled the cash he handed over. The man behind the counter, a young fellow in a turban, took his cash with a nod and a smirk.

"Thank you," Rodney said sarcastically, and took his coffee. "Ow," he said under his breath, and quickly grabbed a sleeve for his cup. Coffee was a glorious invention. One of the few things he felt exalted humans above their base beginnings.

"Thank you for the coffee, Dr. McKay," Zelenka said. "Are you heading up to your office? Or can I have a moment of your time to talk about your notes on the HEFT?"

"Yes?" Rodney raised his eyebrows.

"I found them extremely...comprehensive," Zelenka said wryly.

"I like to be thorough."

"Evidently so." Zelenka guided him across to a bench and they sat down in front of the Math and Science building. From here, Rodney could look up and just make out Gus' silhouette guarding his office. He grinned into his coffee. 

"Your notes in particular on electron dispersion in upper atmospheres were very discerning," Zelenka said. "I want you to consider joining the HEFT team, at least as a fellow." He waved away Rodney's reaction. "I know, you are too pure science for a measly paycheck—"

"Not at all. I was going to say—why not ask me to chair the committee?"

"Oh. Well, if you want the paperwork—"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd much rather kibitz from the sidelines."

Zelenka smiled. "Then the position will be, as they say, speaking to your core competency."

"Says the man who sent back my notes with all my typos corrected." 

Zelenka shrugged. "English is not my first language; I was surprised to find it isn't yours, either."

"Wise-ass." Of course, English wasn't Rodney's first language, but no need to go into that. 

They sat sipping their coffees in pleasant silence. Rodney snuck another look up at his office. The facade of the building really was appallingly gothic. But he supposed the university, being the largest property owner in the city, had picked up a lot of fire sales over the years. Still, he viewed the trashy amalgam of pointed arches, ribbed vaults, modern glass, and cement additions with great fondness.

"You like our building, yes? It is something of an oddity." 

"Oh? Why's that?"

Zelenka shrugged. "Of course, the superstitious say they hear sounds—creaks and groans they shouldn't—all because some parts of the structure, stone and façade, were sold off piecemeal from a Gothic church after the French revolution. The pieces were shipped and then reconstructed, so some say the ghosts caught a ride with the grotesques."

"How absurd," Rodney said. "There's no such thing as ghosts." 

"Ah, but perhaps you and I should argue sometime about the persistence of matter through energy."

"That sounds like a hippie rephrasing of the first law of thermodynamics."

"So, what is a wave but a repeating disturbance that transfers energy through time and space? Is it so far to imagine a spirit as a wave of energy departing a person, and then returning?"

"Oh, my God." Rodney smacked a palm over his face. "What kind of energy? Slap a radiation detector on it and give me a clear reading, and then we can talk."

"So pedantic." Zelenka sighed and sipped his coffee. "Your soul lacks romance."

Rodney thought of mentioning his lack of blow jobs being more critical, but he didn't want to be reported to Human Resources this soon in his tenure. 

Anyway, he was more fascinated by the thought of their building being a Frankenstein construction shipped overseas from France. 

"Which cathedral, do you know?"

"The Basilica of Saint-Denis in Paris. You can see some of the miniature grotesques in the archway."

"Next to the security cameras? Or the lovely new metal detectors?" Rodney felt strangely hesitant mentioning the gargoyle on his roof. 

"Yes, it is something of a chimera."

"I especially like the glass and metal walkway to the technology building. Really fits the aesthetic."

"Pfft." Zelenka finished his coffee and stood. "You will give some thought to joining our team, I hope." 

"I will. In fact," Rodney took a breath and held out his hand, "consider me an official kibitzer." 

"Excellent! Excellent," Zelenka said, his blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses as he shook Rodney's hand. "The primary team meets twice a week from seven to nine a.m."

"Ugh." 

"Ah, but we also have team members in Dublin, Pune, and Singapore. This was the only time that didn't cause undue stress for anyone."

"Fine, fine. That's what coffee is for, I suppose." 

"We meet in CAL Lab 10." Zelenka rose and tossed his empty cup in the trash. 

"I'll see you there," Rodney said to his back, already regretting it, though this was what Sam had suggested he do. Get a fresh start. Meet some exciting new minds. Stop dwelling on past failures—or, at least, people who had failed him.

Rodney sighed and went to get another cup of coffee.

:::

"You see, right here this idiot simplifies the path integral from the sum of exp(iS) but fails to account for the non-real sum of √i! Where did he get his degree, the University of Phoenix Online?"

The gargoyle made a whiffling sound, or maybe that was the wind.

"I know, send them back to kindergarten, that's what you're thinking. But, apparently, their parents spent a boatload of Cheerios to have me wipe their bottoms and make airplane noises while I force feed them first year astrophysics. Again. Meanwhile, they're supposed to be earning their doctorates. Don't ask. This is supposed to be my life, but I don't understand it." 

Perhaps that was a sympathetic expression on the gargoyle's face, or maybe just a shadow cast over the moon by a passing cloud.

"Well. It's been a hoot. But I'd better head back to my university-owned cubicle of an apartment before it gets too late and the native life eats me." Rodney pushed to his feet, giving a small groan. He really should invest in some patio furniture; the wooden chair he'd dragged out here was hell on his spine. As he turned to go, he was suddenly distracted by something he'd never noticed before. At the bottom of the plinth the gargoyle's clawed foot rested on, Rodney could make out some worn writing crawling along the sides. He rubbed the dirt away to read the text, having to hang over the side of the parapet to do so.

"' _Johannes Pastor de Hibernia hoc opus fecit._ '" Rodney chewed over the Latin painfully slowly. 'John Shepherd...of Ireland made this.' Hmm, John Shepherd! Doesn't fit you as well as Gus, and I don't know how good a shepherd you'd make without terrifying the poor sheep to death." Rodney gave the stone a last, affectionate pat. "Goodnight, John Shepherd," he said, and went inside to gather his things, stuffing more papers to grade into his leather satchel before putting on his blazer and shutting off the lights.

He'd really left it till too late. The street lights were already on, and the coffee and pizza joints across the street were already shut down for the evening, their main customers, university students and employees, being long gone. Rodney clutched his satchel in his arms and walked like he had a purpose toward Riverside Drive, where he was staying in his university-provided housing. There was no need to be concerned; this was a nice neighborhood, and just because he was all alone and it was late didn't automatically make him a target for the footsteps that appeared to be following him approximately twenty feet behind.

He walked a little more rapidly, still with his head up, meanwhile reaching into his pocket for his keycard in hopes he could simply slip in the door without incident, when the steps quickened to match his pounding heart and suddenly a hand on his shoulder spun him around rudely.

"I don't know what you wan—"

A shock of pain hit his face. It took a moment to realize someone had punched him! He'd been punched in the face, and he sagged back to the sound of laughter behind him and someone saying, "Hey, man, you feel this? That's a knife in your back. Give us your wallet and the bag."

Rodney froze and got punched in the stomach for his troubles, the angry face before him going hazy. More laughter filled his ears. The angry man wrenched Rodney's satchel from him, and his knees scraped the ground painfully. He couldn't understand what was happening. 

A gust of wind kicked dust into his eyes, and suddenly the laughter stopped, turning into yells then screams. Rodney got shoved by his attackers as they backed away, and he fell over, his head knocking against the sidewalk. His attackers screamed hysterically, and Rodney looked up with dazed eyes to see gray wings and flashes of...claws and fangs. 

"Interesting nightmare," Rodney said. "Which, I'm quite glad to be dreaming, really." He shut his eyes and felt the world lift and spin around him.

When he opened his eyes again, dizzy, his head aching, he found himself outside the window to his office. His satchel was in his lap, and he was being cradled by warmth, held by—

"Oh," Rodney said, as he looked up at his rescuer. "It's you!"

"It's me, John, yes," the gargoyle said, bright fangs glinting in the moonlight, muscles hewn of stone now warm flesh. John sniffed at him and then wrinkled his nose. "You should be more careful going out at night, Dr. McKay," he said, lowering Rodney into his chair.

"Right now, it's my sanity that's at risk, here," Rodney babbled as John jumped up onto his plinth. "What are you? How did you—what?"

John cocked his head, the spikes of his dark hair ruffling in the wind. "You seem pretty sane to me. Just a little chipped at the edges."

"Chipped! I'll give you—" Rodney clutched his head swimming with pain. "Ow."

"You should rest. You've had a trying evening." The gargoyle's voice, seductively rough, tugged at Rodney's eyes, making them droop. 

"You're not wrong," Rodney said, feeling dizzy, about to faint, and he fled toward his office window. Shoving it open, he tumbled inside. When he turned around, his knees shaking, he found the gargoyle was in its customary position and had seemingly transformed back to smooth, weather-worn stone. 

It was too much. Rodney collapsed on his couch and passed out into a dreamless sleep.

:::

Morning hit Rodney in the face with a blast of sunshine. If it weren't for his aching head and the pulse beating in his swollen lip and scuffed up knees, he would have doubted the incident ever happened. Maybe it didn't. In fact, he was pretty sure it was all a hallucination born of adrenaline and the bump on his head, because when he looked out the window he could see the gargoyle right there, unchanged from where it had always been, crouched, unmoving in its lifeless vigilance over the city.

Right. Stone friends didn't come to life. That was ridiculous. Rodney had led a somewhat charmed life—quite literally, in fact—but he knew gargoyles weren't alive. No, what Rodney needed were some Band-Aids and a nice ice pack for his lower lip. He gathered his satchel, which, miraculously, he seemed to have clutched to him during the entire misadventure, and wobbled unsteadily out the door and toward his little cement cubicle high above Riverside Park. It being Sunday, he didn't encounter too many pesky students or staff along the way to question his disheveled appearance, which he remedied quickly with a hot shower that stung in his cuts but soothed his aching muscles. He slathered on a prodigious amount of gooey antibiotic over the scrapes on his knees—with this grimy city, he couldn't be too careful—and went generous with the Band-Aids as well.

He'd need some nourishment, so he dug up a ripe banana for the potassium. A fresh cup of coffee and one ice pack applied to his lip completed the recovery regimen. 

Rodney sat back on his sofa with a sigh and alternated icing his lip, sipping his coffee, and eating his banana. Gargoyle? What gargoyle? If the view disturbed him too much, he could simply request an office change. He'd tell them he found the grotesque oppressive. Certainly, it had nothing to do with any strange hallucinations. 

With a decisive nod, he dropped his banana peel in the trash and reached for his satchel. Yanking his hand back with a gasp, he stared in disbelief at the heavy leather flap. There, plain as day, were four perfectly spaced punctures directly through the calfskin. As if from a large, clawed hand.

Rodney started to hyperventilate.

"No, no, no," he said. "This is not real. I'm still hallucinating somehow. I'm not in this room. I'm back in my office." Except why, in God's name, would he hallucinate the taste of banana and coffee combined with the sting of swollen kneecaps? He pressed the ice pack to his lower lip and contemplated the puncture marks. Rigid with alarm, he poked a finger out and nudged the flap, then tipped the satchel until the papers spilled out.

Four neat little punctures ran through them, bisecting Rodney's red-inked critique of the student's wretched math.

"That really happened. It really did." He touched one of the holes. "That...thing...saved me. And returned my satchel."

Rodney leaped to his feet and stuffed the papers back into his bag. In a whirlwind, he swept up his coat and keys and launched himself out the door. He was two blocks up the street before he started to feel the pain in his knees and slowed down. From street level, this far over on 120th, he couldn't see the gargoyle, John, only the approximate location where he should be. Rodney hurried his steps again.

He rode up in the elevator, rushed down the hall, and into his office. The shadow of gray stone was there, unchanging. Rodney laughed a little at himself. Where would it have gone? 

"Stupid, stupid," he whispered, opening the window and stumbling over the sill onto the patio. 

John crouched regally above the parapet. Ignoring him. Just stone. 

"Hey, John," Rodney said as he poked nervously at the tip of one broad wing. He felt ridiculous. There was no response. 

Of course, not. He'd had a hallucination. But those claw marks said otherwise.

"Seriously, John. Um, thanks for last night," Rodney said, patting the rough stone awkwardly. "And...I don't need to tell you, seeing how much time I've been spending out here with you, but I don't have a lot of friends, so it really means a lot to me that you bothered to, you know, stand up for me." Rodney licked his swollen lip. "No one's ever done that for me before, John."

Rodney startled back as the stone suddenly shifted into life. "Holy crap!"

John turned, his wings moving to wrap around himself like a cloak. "'Holy crap.' I like that one. I'm adding it to my list."

"Your...list?"

John smiled. Rodney's heart stopped trying to jump out of his chest. "I collect human slang and colloquial profanity. My favorite American curse right now is 'flying fuck.' It is possible to fuck while flying, it's just a little awkward—"

"Awkward. As opposed to being a stone statue coming to life," Rodney said, disbelieving.

"There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio—"

"Décrisse! Do not quote that tired old hack at me." Rodney pointed at him. "Jesus Christ, last night really did happen. You flew down and stopped those hoodlums from killing me."

John waved a careless claw. "They were barely annoying. You should see some of the things I've seen, dreaming through the decades here above the city."

"You...you've been aware all this time you've been sitting there? Alive..." There was no scientific explanation for all this, but Rodney found he didn't care. The possibilities opened up a whole line of thinking.

John's wings rustled. "Alive, not-alive. The line gets a little fuzzy when you're made of stone and can only quicken from the touch of a..." He blinked slowly, his full lips curling around his sharp canines. "Friend."

"Friend," Rodney scoffed.

John blinked. "One who speaks your name. One who touches you."

Rodney blushed. "Uh. That was purely accidental." And if Rodney had spent an inordinate time trying to peek over the edge of one strategically curled wing to see if the gargoyle was anatomically correct, that was nobody's business but his own. Unfortunately, John was still posing with one wing tucked into his lap. It was very annoying.

A soft snort made Rodney look away.

"So, uh." Rodney coughed. "I don't think you really heard me when I was thanking you, but, uh, it meant a lot. So, um, thanks."

"You're thanking _me_." John rumbled a grinding laugh. "You quickened me. I haven't been quickened in over a hundred years. Since they moved me here from midtown." John smiled sharply. "The engineer who set me on this roof used to have long conversations with me about what a dunce the architect was. The engineer was a nice guy. Percy was his name."

"What happened to Percy?"

John looked away. "He died, as humans do. I went back to sleep, because it was a boring world without him."

"You mean you have a choice?"

"Of course. After the same person quickens me three times, I can stay quickened as long as I wish." John rustled his wings in what Rodney guessed was a shrug. "But the math is here whether I'm quick or not."

"I knew it! I knew you were listening."

"Mmm-hmm. You should be easier on them, Dr. McKay. They are no more or less stupid than any of the brainless slugs that have studied here before." 

"Nice." Rodney chuckled. "But how are you even possible?"

"Percy asked the same thing. How do I know? Do you know how human life is possible?"

Rodney stuttered a moment. "W-well, as far as how cellular life came into existence in the beginning, not as such."

John arched an eyebrow at him. Insufferable creature. And beautiful. Really, he was a very striking...creature-person. His lips were full, his nose straight and long, his cheekbones high and angular, and his green eyes seemed just a bit sad, turning down at the edges. The hair, though, was bizarre, a flowing, floating marvel that stood straight up and fluttered constantly, rising into a crown that peaked into distinct, horn-like points. As pointed as his ears. 

When John yawned suddenly, Rodney was treated to a view of his full mouth of teeth and sharp canines and incisors. 

"Do you sleep?" Rodney asked, curious. 

"When I'm quickened? I can. But by sunrise I will be stone once again; why waste the time when I can fly?"

"Ah. Well...there's no reason I couldn't do it again? How did I do it last time? I spoke your name?"

John smiled. "Three times, yes. While touching me."

"Sounds easy enough." Rodney rubbed his hands together. "It won't, uh, obligate me to anything...you being a somewhat magical creature and all?"

John tilted his head and frowned.

"I don't want to find myself locked in a basement somewhere," Rodney explained, laughing nervously, "making shoes for all eternity." 

"Shoes?" John left his mouth open, his tongue peeping out in amusement. "I don't wear shoes." 

"Yes, well. Bad example, I suppose."

"You aren't obliged to do anything. You don't even have to come visit me and talk math to me anymore," John said wistfully.

"Oh, come _on_!"

John laughed soundlessly.

"I'll see you later," Rodney said. "After classes tomorrow, that is."

"I'll be here, I guess." John winked. 

"Smart ass."

:::

Rodney lectured in something of a daze, too distracted by the mystery that was John the gargoyle. But after a long life filled with scientific enquiry, John was a brand-new anomaly. How was he even possible? And how wonderful that he was. Matter transformed from inert rock to whatever John was—really, this bore experimentation. Nothing too rigorous. Just observation and passive examination. 

Rodney was altogether intrigued.

He came out of his mental fugue to find he'd lost the thread somewhat, if the look his long-suffering T.A. gave him was any indication. Aisha glared and pointed at his podium. Oh, right, his lecture notes. Perhaps he shouldn't have gone off-tangent and started discussing the history of alchemy during his quantum entanglements lecture. But, honestly, the burning of the great library in Alexandria had to stand as the greatest crime in all of history. Damn those Christians.

Rodney tried to duck out before Q&A, but Aisha opened the floor.

"Professor, you said Bell's theorem disproves local realism but I don't understand?"

"Wow, it's almost like you were napping during my lecture." 

Aisha cleared her throat, and Rodney sighed. "In its simplest form, Bell's theorem states 'No physical theory of local hidden variables can ever reproduce all of the predictions of quantum mechanics.' You realize, this means his proposed experiment would require faster than light communication between entangled quantum particles, that setting one measuring device influences the reading of the other instrument, however remote? Einstein's 'spooky action at a distance,' more charmingly put..." Rodney trailed off to the quiet sounds of understanding. 

Oh, suddenly it was clear to Rodney, as well. John's stone form was entangled with his flesh form. It was alchemy of the quantum sort. Remarkable.

"Class dismissed," Rodney said, swiping his papers into his satchel to the groans of his students.

"Dr. McKay," Aisha said rushing after him. Great Scott, she was the bane of his existence, even as he conceded he couldn't possibly function without her. "I got a call from a Dr. Zelenka..."

"Yes, yes. I know. HEFT meeting Thursday at seven a.m."

She smiled approvingly. "You doing okay, Doc? You seem pretty distracted today."

"Oh, uh. Yes. New theory, you know." He tapped his head. "Pretty busy up here right now."

"Mmm-hmm." She crossed her arms. "Well, just remember what pays the bills."

"I swear, it's almost like you're my mother and not my TA. Aren't TAs supposed to be groveling sycophants?"

Her cheeks creased impishly. "Yeah, and you fired the first two kiss-asses, so there you go."

"And here I go," Rodney said. "Really, gotta run." 

He crashed back into his office and scrambled over his window sill to find John sprawled in the afternoon sunlight, his tail draped demurely over his groin and reminding Rodney of the gift of underwear he'd brought with him. 

"Ahem," Rodney said. "Don't you think you're being a little indiscreet?"

John raised his eyebrow. "No one can see this courtyard. The rooftop across the street is lower than ours, and we're sheltered by the wall of the pronaos."

"The pro— Right. You dated an architect." Another intriguing thought. 

"Engineer." John looked away. "Percy was killed in a food riot. He got trampled by a police horse. I couldn't save him." John flexed his claws and they extended and then retracted until his hands appeared human. "Percy liked to build things," John said wistfully. 

Rodney stared, aching a little. He wanted to say, "I like to build things, too." But that was no longer true. He'd given it up ever since his last and greatest fiasco. Anyway, it was too late; the silence had dragged, and John sat up and crouched with his tail wrapped around his feet. 

Rodney was being ridiculous, anyway. "Well. I don't suppose, in the interest of science, you'd be willing to give me a small sample of your blood? I have a theory you see," he babbled over John's incredulous look. "It involves quantum entanglement."

"You want to run spin measurements on entangled electrons of my blood?" John sounded amused.

Rodney was unreasonably turned on. "Yes. Oh my God—"

"I left some right there," John said, politely ignoring Rodney's awe, instead pointing to a small lump by Rodney's right foot. On closer examination, it appeared to be a pile of gray sand.

"That's...seriously? Is that—?"

"My blood," John said.

"But how—oh, my God. One of those jerks had a knife! I saw it!"

"He only scratched me a little."

"Are you being serious? Where? Show me!" 

John shrugged and swept his wing to the side, exposing his flank. Rodney trained his eyes on the minor wound across John's ribs and most decidedly not a foot lower down. 

"It doesn't look too bad," Rodney said. "But you should have said something."

"You were a little bit concussed," John said. "And not very coherent. And then you fainted."

"Excuse me! I passed out. And I think my reaction was understandable." Rodney reached into his satchel for the test tube he'd brought with him and happened upon the boxers, still in their packaging. "Oh, these are for you," he said, tossing them to John. They were appalling blue and white striped abominations, a gift from an old boyfriend, but they would do for modesty's sake, although John didn't seem to be having any trouble inventing spontaneous fig-leafed poses like a medieval grotesque. 

"You want me to wear these?" John said, holding them between a finger and thumb like a piece of smelly garbage. 

"Ah. I just thought you'd be more comfortable..."

"If I looked more human?" John said derisively, and Rodney reared back.

"No. That's not what I meant at—"

"Hard pass." John tossed the package onto Rodney's satchel. 

"All right. Fine." Rodney bent and scooped a little of the sand onto a piece of paper. "I can't believe this is your blood. I'll have to begin by determining how to test the entangled form."

John snorted. "You already know how."

"What? No, I don't."

"Just quicken it."

Rodney wanted to smack himself. He touched his fingertip to the sand dusting the paper and said, "John, John, John."

John made a small noise. The sand turned to blood and soaked the paper.

Rodney looked up, alarmed. "Are you kidding me? You felt that?"

"Right here." John touched his wounded side.

"Remarkable. Just remarkable." Rodney bent down and scooped up another sample, this time into the test tube.

"I aim to please," John said, heavy on the irony.

"Oh, don't get snippy. I'll keep you out of any documentation. Besides, I thought you liked science." He sat down in his patio chair and grabbed his notebook. 

"I do. Living over a church was boring." John smiled. "Well, the monks were fun."

"You degenerate."

"Nah, me? They were the ones getting up to all sorts of mischief. And I got to be good pals with Abbot Suger, who was the patron of my creator." John settled smoothly to sit on his feet, his wings fluttering to drape around his shoulders and thighs like a robe.

Rodney sighed. "I suppose I should take your sample and go set up the Bell test."

"Do you have to right this second?" 

Rodney chewed the corner of his lip. "I suppose not. Why?"

"Because, I just woke up and I'm bored." John grinned and added, "And you're my human, which means you have to amuse me."

"I'm not—" Rodney stopped himself with an effort of will. "Fine. Fine. Just this once, because you just woke up. Not because I'm obligated."

"Of course not," John said.

"What do you want to do?"

"Do you play chess?"

:::

"Insufferable. Unbelievable. That big cheat!" Rodney ranted to himself as he walked back to his cubicle apartment. 

Despite his fury at losing to John three games out five—"Inconceivable!"—Rodney kept a wary eye on his surroundings. He'd stayed too late again, and every shadow potentially hid a knife-wielding college student looking to pay off their loans the easy way. 

He wasn't sure what made him look up—a cool rush of wind, or perhaps a looming sense of weight—but when he did, his heart jumped up and wedged in his throat, because he knew that shadow blotting out the stars with easy strokes of powerful wings, circling overhead and keeping watch.

Rodney walked home the remaining three blocks with a jaunty step and with a flush he couldn't shake. 

_John is watching._

:::

"You won't believe these results—I think we'll be pushing the envelope of quantum theory by decades with this." Rodney waved the first few pages at John, the rest spiraling out from the dot matrix accordion of paper he'd brought with him. "I used spontaneous parametric down-conversion to change your matter from blood to stone and back again. It's simply remarkable."

John blinked at him, his tongue hanging between his teeth, and took the pages Rodney offered him to look down and read them while Rodney babbled at him about how generations of frustrated alchemists had had it right after all. 

After staring at the results, John said, "Rodney."

Rodney stopped abruptly at the strange look in John's eyes.

"Don't get a big head about this, but you're brilliant."

"No, well—of course, I know that—"

"I've watched scientists pass through these halls for two hundred and fifty years. You're a true genius."

Rodney felt his face burn. "Oh, well. Yes. I...um. Coffee? More coffee, I think," he said, and he ducked through the window before John could say another word. 

:::

"How are you holding up?" Sam asked him over the phone that night. "You sound better than you did last week."

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. "I think the new environment's doing me justice. I've started down a fresh line of inquiry."

"Good for you, Rodney." She hesitated, and Rodney's stomach plummeted with dread. 

"Sam, let's not—"

"I'm sorry for how things turned out. I don't know if I said it clearly enough."

"It wasn't your fault. I know how people react to me." Rodney squeezed his phone a little too hard. 

"Rodney...that's their fault, okay? It's not on you."

"Right. Right. Can we just—" 

"Okay. I'm sorry. Anyway, sounds like you like it there."

"Oh, I do. I have a great office; terrific view." Rodney thought of John and felt his face heat. "I've made some new friends, even."

"Oh? Spill, McKay."

"Not just yet. Maybe when there's something to spill about."

"All right. Talk to you next week?"

"Next week. Be safe, Sam."

"You too."

:::

"Ugh, they put brown mustard on this sandwich," Rodney said, tossing it back on the wrapper after only one bite. He turned back to his paper. "Since when did asking for 'mustard' default to them slathering on this nasty brown concoction? Forgive me, but did I ask for my tongue to burn off and seeds stick in my gums—"

"Wow, this is tasty." 

Rodney stared in disbelief and John took another tremendous bite of his sandwich. "Excuse me?"

"Nice and hot. Humans have made great strides in condiments since I last ate a sandwich."

Rodney sniffed. "You have lettuce in your teeth."

John just munched on in happy silence.

:::

Rodney walked into the HEFT meeting Thursday morning carrying a quadruple shot coffee and a heavily-critiqued copy of the team's latest result set. He then got introduced to the biggest bunch of nerds it was ever his misfortune to encounter.

Dr. Teyla Emmagan, lead data modeler and research fellow, would barely look at him through her inch-thick bifocals to make eye contact. 

Prof. Ronon Dex, co-investigator and designer of the now-famous focal-plane detectors, was a large, laid-back gentleman wearing a rough shell necklace and a loud Hawaiian shirt and who greeted Rodney with, "Aloha, man."

'Aloha.' Honestly.

"I've heard a lot about you, Dr. Dex," Rodney said. "I hope your skills at mass spectrometry far outstrip your taste in shirts."

"Haw," Dex chortled, and slapped Rodney on the back so hard he almost spilled his precious coffee. "Ditto, McKay."

"Hmmph." Rodney sniffed.

Student researcher coordinator and part-time emo goth-boy Chuck Campbell gave Rodney a sultry, eyeliner-drenched pout and held out a hand tipped with black fingernail polish for a shake. 

"Only if you slather yourself with Purell, first," Rodney responded, making Zelenka chortle.

Zelenka, as the principal project director, was the last member of the group. "Thanks for joining us," he said to Rodney. "I've asked Dean Weir of the Teacher's College to stop by and check in. I don't know if you've met her."

"Oh, I have," Rodney said. "She wants me to teach for the science education program. She's...quite a presence." If deans could be deadly fashionistas, Dean Weir was one such. She could use her Saint Laurent pumps as lethal weapons at one hundred yards. 

"She has, indeed," Zelenka said, smiling wistfully. He sniffed. "Is that your coffee?"

"Yes?"

"Funny. It smells odd."

"Might be the four shots of espresso I had them add."

Zelenka raised his eyebrows. "Today we're going over last week's result sets with our colleagues in India and Dublin. Second on the agenda is the inflight calibration of the Point Spread Function for measuring the size of the Crab Nebula in the hard X-ray energy band at approximately 20-70 kilo electron volts."

"And, yes, Dr. McKay, I have already incorporated your comment about electron dispersion in upper atmosphere," Dr. Emmagan said, shoving her glasses up. "We are attempting to compensate using the Lewicky algorithm."

"Lewicky! That hack. I can write you a more adaptable algorithm than that. Get me the specs on the optics and the heights you anticipate running the next tests at. Just a ballpark range—I'm not going to restrict you to fifty feet like old tight pants Lewicky."

Emmagan poked her tongue into her cheek. "Dr. Lewicky's pants are ill-fitting at best—"

"And! I'll provide an API, see if I don't." Rodney crossed his arms. 

"We only have two days before our lab window," Prof. Dex pointed out, and an uptight, accented voice said over the speaker phone, "This might also be our last shot before the weather changes."

Rodney shrugged and looked to Dr. Zelenka.

"Thank you, Dr. Grodin," Zelenka said. "But I think the weather might hold another cycle for us. In any event, I think we can afford the risk for more reliable data." He nodded at Rodney, and Rodney nodded back, touched by Zelenka's confidence.

"I'll have it ready in two days."

:::

"No, but this is infuriating," Rodney said, almost ready to pound his forehead against John's abnormally firm thigh, which Rodney was presently using as a lounging pillow while he lay on his favorite fuzzy blanket. "How am I supposed to pull this figure out of my ass? The dispersion rate varies at atmospheric density and depending on weather conditions."

John made an interrogative noise and opened his mouth like a cat scenting the air. "Can you try tasting it?"

"You're ridiculous," Rodney said fondly. "You're thinking about flying again, aren't you? You're positively Pavlovian. I mention the weather and you start sniffing for wind patterns."

John looked down at him and grinned.

Rodney snapped his fingers. "That's it! A sniffer! Of course! We'll just sample the dispersion rate before the HEFT run. A simple test of dispersion relations for electron scattering will do the trick. Then we'll correct for the rate." He patted John's wing. "Seriously, I could kiss you."

John raised his eyebrows. "You could?"

"Well, I—that's just a figure of speech, of course."

John blinked, his eyes growing large and liquid. 

"Oh, stop it. Do you imagine I'm falling for that?" Rodney grumbled under his breath. "As if you want me to kiss you, anyway."

"It's true; I don't. You might get your human cooties on me." 

Rodney started to respond, filled with outrage, only to have John bend over him and kiss him with warm and gentle lips. 

"There. Now we will both die of the same horrible human diseases," John said softly. But despite the joking words, his tone was soft and sad. Rodney grabbed him and pulled him down for a deeper kiss. John growled softly and clutched at him, nipping at Rodney's lower lip. 

"Oh!" Rodney said, distracted even through the heat of arousal. "What happened to your fangs?"

John flashed a blunt smile, then waved his hand to show his claws retracting. "I've learned to be careful of the fragile human." 

"I am most certainly _not_ —"

"I wasn't insulting you," John said. "Not if you're going to stop the kissing."

Rodney heaved a dramatic sigh. "I suppose not..." John swooped down and took his lips again and gave him more delightful kisses and some warm nibbles along his jaw and throat. Rodney retaliated by burying his fingers in John's ridiculous hair and playing with the tips of his pointed ears, which made John shiver and bite down just a little too firmly on Rodney's collar bone.

"Ow. Oh. Oh!" That felt too good to be real. Rodney reached around John's waist and felt him up, rubbing where the deerskin-soft membrane of his wings met his spine.

"Oh f-fuck," John said, tensing up, and then he turned and laid himself on top of Rodney. Rodney felt a heated bulge pressing into his belly and hastily looked down. Finally, finally he got a glimpse of John's ruddy cockhead poking out of its sheath. It seemed to have a ridge cresting around the crown, and Rodney swallowed heavily, thinking about having that thing rubbing up inside him.

Then John was kissing him again, deep, penetrating kisses, and thrusting his cock against Rodney's through his suit pants. 

"That can't be comfortable," Rodney said and he tried to stop himself, but between the kisses and the rubbing and the squeezing and John's subvocalized growling, he was just a little too damned turned on. Finally, he pulled back and said, "Wait, wait. You'll chafe!"

John tilted his head. His hair had reached an epically tousled state, spikey points sticking up all over the place, and his cheeks were flushed. "You humans with your clothes."

Rodney bit back a snappy answer that might prevent him getting laid and quickly yanked off his clothes, John watching him all the while with eyes as dark as night. As soon as Rodney had his shoes and pants off, John pounced.

Feeling like a mouse under a stooping hawk, Rodney could only lie back as John sucked at his throat, his jaw, and tugged at his nipples with dangerously sharp teeth, making him whimper and John growl with approval. All the while, John stroked Rodney's cock with a firm, warm hand. 

"Please, yes. Just like that," Rodney said, or moaned, really, when John rubbed him just so with his thumb, still lapping at his sore nipple with his tongue. "Oh my God," Rodney said when John squeezed him just right. It had been way too long since he'd let someone touch him like this, and he couldn't take another moment of that sweet pressure and those nipping teeth sending signals of pleasure straight to his cock.

"Ahh." Rodney closed his eyes as he came, but opened them abruptly when John said, "Oh, that's pretty." John knelt above him, wings out, face gleaming in the last of the afternoon sun as he stared down at him while Rodney whimpered.

"I forgot how pink you humans get when you come." John made a face and wiped his hand off on the blanket. 

Rodney rolled his eyes and reached for John's cock, shutting him up immediately. John's dick was unusual but comely, with its firm shaft and attractive ridge running up the front to circle at the slit. Rodney thumbed the head and grinned to himself when John's wings rattled, and then John grabbed Rodney's hand and guided him, stroking with him while he leaned over and took possession of Rodney's mouth once again. 

"I'm going to kiss that smirk right off you," John said.

"Others have tried," Rodney said. "You're free to give it a go." He added a twist to pass his palm over the head. 

John yelped and leaned his forehead on Rodney's shoulder, panting. "Oh, that's good. Don't stop...God, your hands." 

Rodney didn't stop. He turned his head and nipped the pointed tip of John's ear.

"La vache!," John said, and grabbed Rodney's hand, squeezing it around his cock in an iron grip as he came. 

"Huh. Ears are a sensory zone," Rodney said thoughtfully. "Also, I forgot you were French."

John chuckled weakly. "Centuries ago. I consider myself a gift to the Colonies now." He rolled off to the side, his wings tucking neatly behind him. His tail, Rodney noticed, was once again trying to fig leaf, but not very successfully. Apparently, Rodney had blown John's circuits. It was some consolation as Rodney sat up and dug into his satchel for a couple of Kleenex. 

"Thanks for coming all over me," Rodney said, and then froze in wonder as the jizz he was brushing off his belly turned to powder. "Well, that certainly helps with clean-up," he said, as he brushed it away and then dusted off his hands.

John lounged on one hand and watched while Rodney got dressed and sat down to put on his shoes. Rodney had a lot to think about. A little too much, actually. What John's presence in his life meant about his future, and whether or not Rodney should even tell him—

"I have to get back to work," Rodney said abruptly. "I have to deliver a solution to the dispersion problem by tomorrow."

"Don't let me keep you," John said, sounding distant. 

Rodney shivered as the first inkling of winter teased its way through his sweater. "Brrr," he said as he picked up his notebook. 

John raised his wings and the wind died down.

"Oh. Thank you," Rodney said. "I'd hate to die of pneumonia."

"What? Pneumonia?" John tucked the blanket around Rodney's legs. Rodney scooted back until he was tucked against John's shoulder. Then Rodney got to work on his sniffer design. It wouldn't be difficult to repurpose the existing line-of-sight...ah, of course. Rodney mapped it out, then got started working out the sniffer algorithm, but it was hard to stay awake after his surprise orgasm, and he faded fast, drooping against John's side. 

"Rodney?"

"Whassnuh?" 

"Nothing."

Rodney woke up from his nap nestled in warmth, John's wing wrapped around him. John's eyes were half-closed and observing, with some scorn, a pigeon seated on his empty plinth.

Rodney chuckled. "You're not fond of pigeons, I take it."

"They're vile creatures. Loathsome, poop-dropping vermin." 

"So, that's a negative." Rodney yawned and rubbed his eyes. 

"If it weren't for the young students who stop by every Spring to scrub me clean, I would have been eaten away by their virulent droppings." 

"Oh, really? Adoring students stop by and lovingly wash you?" 

"I'm sure it's just detention duty or something."

"Uh-huh," Rodney said doubtfully. He picked up his notebook and straightened out the page that had gotten bent when he'd slipped into his nap. The solution was firmly fixed in his brain now; all he had to do was code it up and hand it over. "Thanks for a lovely afternoon."

John pulled away his wing and ducked his head. The sudden coolness brought a chill of foreboding. 

"John?"

"I've been thinking..." John looked at him dolefully,

"Are you sure you're qualified?" Rodney snapped back, his stomach swooping.

"About our afternoon..." John licked his lower lip. "Maybe we shouldn't...indulge. You're obviously a very busy guy," he said, rushing over Rodney's stuttered objections. "And I'm, well, me."

"You're _you_? What the hell does that mean?"

John shrugged. "A different species?"

"No-no-no, I know what this is," Rodney said, springing to his feet to start pacing. "This is about that pneumonia crack, isn't it? So what, I got a little cold! I can't even take a nap and you're measuring my coffin, is that it? Oh, look at the poor frail human? Please." He pointed at John's dumbfounded expression. "Never underestimate Rodney Fezzik McKay. Do you think I'm an idiot? I've caught the signs. You think we're great for a one night stand, but humans are like fireflies, is that it?"

John finally seemed to get the hinge on his stupid mouth working. "Fireflies are beautiful. Humans are filled with gross and disgusting humors. Especially when they're sick."

"And they live about five minutes. Whereas you—"

"I'm made of stone." John looked down. "I'm sorry, Rodney."

"Uh-huh." Rodney didn't disguise his hurt. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you, you big hunk of rock." He hastily gathered up his things and stuffed them in his satchel, then marched away. His dramatic exit climbing through the window was less than effective, but he was already mourning so much—countless lazy afternoons in the sunshine working on lecture slides while leaning against John's warm side; John's curious voice asking him stupid questions just so Rodney could sting him with sarcastic answers; a thousand future blow-jobs to look forward to. Not to mention a possible future with someone who seemed to understand him. All gone.

Dusk had fallen, and as he walked down 120th toward Riverside, Rodney sensed his usual shadow. 

"No. No way. You don't get to play the hero when you've just dumped me, you asshole," Rodney muttered, certain John could hear with those pointed ears of his. "Go suck on a lemon." But John's protection was another thing Rodney would miss, and tomorrow he'd have to ask for a new office. He'd tell them he was allergic to something in his present office; that always worked.

Rodney entered his building and took the elevator to the top floor. His little cubicle of an apartment faced Riverside Drive and a slow stream of cars, but at this hour, the river was quiet. He dropped his satchel on his desk and turned to rummage around in his fridge, his heart was sore in his chest. Stupid gargoyle. Rodney had been tempted, only for a moment, to tell him the truth, but he wasn't worth it. Nobody was worth it.

Rodney sighed and pulled out a container of day-old beef stir-fry. 

The roof suddenly shook with heavy double thump. Rodney knew that thump, damn it.

"Johannes Pastor de Hibernia! That had better not be you up there!" Rodney stomped over to his window and opened it, leaning out to look up.

John had stretched over the edge of the roof to look down. When he saw Rodney, he jumped into flight and made a breathtaking loop to arrow toward Rodney's open window. Rodney backed away, his heart rabbiting as John landed, clutching the window frame with his claws, then tucked in his wings and tumbled through the window to roll to Rodney's feet.

"Well, that was a graceful entrance."

"Rodney, Rodney," John said, extracting himself to kneel up. "I messed up. I don't know what I was thinking."

"No kidding. You made me drop my broccoli beef." Rodney picked up the container and plastic fork and set them on the counter.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll say you are."

John made a face, his eyebrows squirreling up his forehead. "But I needed to see you."

Rodney shook his head, then leaned forward to poke John in the sternum. "Tell me this much: this Percy guy, you liked him?"

"I..." John's voice dropped to a whisper. "I'd have done anything for him."

"You loved him," Rodney said with grim satisfaction.

"I...that, yeah." John met his eyes for a brief moment then said, "Loved him."

"But you'd give that up." 

John reared back and roused his wings. "No, no. I couldn't."

Rodney crossed his arms.

"Oh, but no, that's not what I wanted—I'm an idiot. I really didn't mean it, Rodney."

"So, you're not dumping me?"

"No, I...no! I didn't want to. It was a stupid mistake." John bit his lip and then said haltingly, "You're incredible, Rodney. Your mind is amazing."

Rodney was surprised by the rush of relief. "Of course. I am a genius, after all."

John took him by the shoulders. "No, you don't get it. Your mind is...it shines. The brightest star in five generations, if not more."

"Oh. Well." Rodney felt his face heat. "Good. Then you don't mind I'm a frail, pathetic human?"

"Rodney...of course not." John dropped his hands. "I told you, I was being stupid."

"Good. Because I've got news for you, mister." Rodney swallowed hard and lifted his chin. "I'm...not exactly human."

John frowned, his eyebrows curving like question marks. "Not human?"

"Not exactly." Rodney slumped. "Not even close, actually. This is just a human suit. I've been wearing it so long, even I forget sometimes."

"You're not human? Then what are you?" John's wings furled.

"Don't freak out. Here, watch." Rodney took a deep breath and closed his eyes, forcing the Change.

It took a bit—it had been a while since he'd last Changed, and his body had trouble remembering, but his true form was there, all right, hiding under this human skin, waiting for it to be shed like a bad suit of clothes. Like taking off a tight pair of shoes and putting on a pair of slippers, it felt comfortable, easy. Ten seconds later, Rodney stood proudly in his gnome form, a little shorter, a little wider, more muscular, tougher, and eyes a little bluer, he knew, and mouth just a little more crooked. He looked up and saw John staring at him in disbelief.

"You're...not human."

"Not human, no. A gnome."

"Not human. A gnome. I've never met a gnome," John said, sounding breathless. "Do gnomes live a long time?"

"Well, assuming they're not attacked by dragons or goblins, yes. As long as they like."

John's face broke into a heartbreaking grin. "As long as they like."

"Are you going to repeat everything I say?"

"Maybe." John stepped toward him, one hand lifting but stopping shy of Rodney's arm, where his sweater now felt uncomfortably tight around his bicep. "Can I?"

"Touch me? Go ahead." Rodney smiled. John asked as if he needed permission for Rodney's gnome form apart from his human form. 

"Thanks." John rested his hand on Rodney's shoulder and squeezed, raising his eyebrows in surprise, then stroking a hand down Rodney's arm to his wrist. "Strong," was his only comment.

"I told you," Rodney said. "Gnomes are damned sturdy. I once spent twenty years trapped in a guy's basement living off fish guts." Rodney made a face when he remembered the taste. "The jerk had me making shoes for him. Shoes, I ask you. I'm not that kind of gnome!"

"What kind of gnome are you, then?" John asked, looking fully entertained.

"Well. I'm a logos gnome, aren't I? Logos gnomes have been studying the workings of the universe since before humans crawled out of their caves."

"But you decided to live among them."

"Sure." Rodney shrugged. "Now that they have particle accelerators." 

"As a human..."

"Pretending to be human," Rodney stressed. "That doesn't mean I'm not my sturdy self underneath."

John grinned at that, his teeth sharp and hungry-looking, as if he dearly wanted to test the hypothesis. Rodney's stomach did a loop-de-loop.

"Unfortunately, we'll have to put a pin in that. I have work to do before I sleep," Rodney said. 

John sighed in exasperation. "It's sure been an interesting day."

"No kidding." Rodney reached up, a little hesitant, but John went with it, letting Rodney steal another kiss. "Until tomorrow?"

"You know where I'll be," John said, his lips brushing Rodney's as he spoke.

"When you're not flying around like an oversized bat." Rodney stepped away and evoked the Change, slipping back into his human suit. It wasn't so bad. He'd gotten used to it over the years. In the beginning, when he'd decided to live as a human as their explorations into the sciences had started to advance beyond gnomehood's, every day was just a little bit tortuous. His skin felt like a velvet corset, not that he wore corsets very often for comparison. But now, being human was no stranger than putting on a cashmere sweater. Sometimes he touched his own skin and was still startled by how soft it was.

He saw it reflected in John's eyes after the Change, in his gentle hands as he cradled his face for a goodbye kiss. There was something different in his kiss, as if John were revealing an equal secret with the gentle touch of his lips. 

"Until tomorrow," John promised, and then he tucked his wings tight and launched himself out Rodney's window and into the night.

:::

Rodney had afternoon classes on Friday, so the earliest he could return to his office was 2:00 p.m. He unlocked his door and dumped his satchel on his couch, eager to see John and tell him all the discoveries he'd saved up that day. Maybe he should get John a cell phone?

Only, when Rodney looked through the window, he saw no sign of the gargoyle. Rodney hurried over the sill and onto the deck to step around the partition wall that sheltered it from the rest of the roof, but John wasn't there, either, which was good, since the main part of the roof was lined with windows facing the main offices. Rodney's was the only office in the odd little junction that jutted out to the western parapet of the building. Rodney stepped back around to his deck, none the wiser for his creeping.

"John, you jerk," he said. 

Just then, a looming shadow and a rush of wind heralded John's approach as he flapped his wings to slow his descent. He landed lightly in front of Rodney, a broad grin on his face, and grabbed him in a hug.

"Oh my God," Rodney said. "Did you just stoop at me like I'm some helpless little pigeon—?"

John laughed and said, "Caught you."

"Arrrgh."

"Saw you wandering around the roof like a lost sheep; couldn't resist," John said, catching Rodney's ear lobe and tugging at it with his teeth. The sharp bite made a shiver run down Rodney's spine and directly to his cock. _Blow job!_ his cock said. _Later,_ Rodney told it. Stupid thing. 

"Where were you, anyway?" Rodney said, pulling away. "You know it's not safe to be flying around in the daytime."

"Eh. It's not like anyone looks up. They're all staring down at their little hand telephones." John mimed poking at a screen, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth. 

"Uh-huh. Well, unfortunately for you, there are these things called closed-circuit cameras. Everywhere!" Rodney waved his arms. "Humans don't have to be looking for you to get caught! Why do you think I'm so careful never to shift forms anywhere but inside my own apartment?"

"Oh." John scratched at his ridiculous mop of spiky hair. "I was visiting my friends," he said. "I spent the night doing the rounds to see if they were all still there. Balto, Patience, Fortitude—"

"Hang on," Rodney said. "You mean there are more of you?"

"Of course." John tugged Rodney over to their corner to sit on the thick blanket Rodney had left there. "Balto lives in Central Park. The little kids have quickened him so many times, it's hard for him to pretend anymore. They pet his ears and ride on his back and pretend they are great heroes saving the townspeople from plague, just like the real Balto did." John grinned. "When it snows, though, that's when he and I have fun. At night we stage great battles. Sometimes the Mad Hatter referees. Not that his rules make any sense."

"I...don't know how to respond to that. You have mock battles with a giant husky in Central Park, and the Mad Hatter statue declares the victor?"

John nodded. "And then he makes us play tea party." 

Rodney bit his lip at the image.

John said defensively, "It's only fair to return the favor."

"Uh-huh. And who did you visit next?"

"I get the latest news from the lions at the public library, Patience and Fortitude. Fortitude is kind of boring, but Patience is fun. He's learning how to crochet." 

Rodney coughed. "Aren't his paws kind of—"

"He's very determined," John said. "Anyway, he told me Columbus is being a real asshole lately about immigration. No big surprise; Columbus was always a dick."

"I'm glad you stayed away from Columbus Circle, considering the sheer volume of surveillance cameras there."

"Oh. You have to tell me more about these cameras sometime." John shifted onto his side and put his head in Rodney's lap. Rodney denied categorically the tightness in his chest at the gesture. Allergy season was starting, after all. 

"Yes, things have changed a little since the last time you were really awake." Rodney tentatively petted John's hair. God, it was soft and thick and so dense. 

John gave a low rumble of approval. "Next, I said hello to my old friend, Athena, to get the campus news."

"Athena...where is she?"

John blinked his eyes open. "She's on the campus steps just below the big library."

"Are you talking about Alma Mater?" Rodney said incredulously. "John—"

"The kids call her that. She doesn't mind it, but her name is Athena; the last one to quicken her was the man who built the library. No one knows her real name."

Rodney's jaw dropped. "President Low quickened Alma Mater? Jesus."

"She misses him terribly. He was a great mind."

"You statues have a thing for brains, don't you?"

John's face darkened with a blush. "What else is there? Stone can be carved to any shape, but the mind quickens the stone. And all that lasts through the centuries is our thoughts."

Rodney sat for a moment, dumbfounded, before leaning over to give John a kiss. This kiss, he meant to last—past the ages of stone, beyond the pages of thoughts he placed on paper and in journals, longer than the Nobel he hoped would someday grace his mantel. 

And John responded as if hearing Rodney's wish, clasping the back of Rodney's head as if trying to hold them together forever in their kiss. When Rodney lifted his head, John looked dazed, drugged, dazzled. Then he smiled.

"Well," John said, "maybe there's one other thing that lasts."

:::

The next morning, John tried to make Rodney a turkey sandwich for his lunch bag. Rodney only discovered this when he got out of the shower and found John in the kitchen fighting with the mustard bottle. The ensuing pool of mustard juice sluiced over his white bread and half across the kitchen table, John's hopelessly sad look, and the punctured mustard bottle hanging off John's clawed fingers had Rodney laughing so hard he almost choked on his own spit.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he said to John's incredibly effective pout. "I don't think anyone's ever made me a sandwich before."

"I wanted you to eat lunch for once," John grumbled. "You don't eat enough. But I'll throw it out."

"No, I want my sandwich," Rodney said stubbornly. "It means a lot. You don't know." Bizarrely, his voice went dry on him, and he turned away. "I don't have a lot of friends, you know? Sam is my best friend, and she's the only one who didn’t punt me to the curb when she found out about...you know."

"About?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I've lived all over the world, moving from place to place in search of pure science, always as a human, never as myself. My last job was at a thinktank for the paranormal. I thought it was the perfect place for me to go and learn just what the humans already knew about us gnomes—and also to test the temperature to see if logos gnomes and humans could start collaborating openly on scientific endeavors. It backfired on me, bigtime."

John's wings plumped out. He suddenly looked twice his size. "Did they threaten you? Hurt you?"

Rodney shook his head. "My friend, Sam, protected me, as far as that goes, but the humans were...unkind...when they found out the truth. Suddenly all their stupidity—all their professional jealousy or what have you—was blamed on my being a gnome. _Of course_ Rodney's a bitch to work with—he's a gnome. Of course he's weird or unpleasant or too smart whatever—he's a gnome." Rodney crossed his arms tightly. 

John was close, suddenly, his arms wrapping warm around Rodney, and Rodney Changed instinctively so John could pull him in closer, tuck him under his chin, wings closing around them both. It was warm and safe and dark, here, and Rodney sighed and inhaled John's comforting scent.

"Want a blow-job?" John asked, and Rodney laughed.

:::

Rodney got his blow job, John's very agile tongue hot and soft on the head of his dick. Rodney got blowjobs in his office, he got kisses in the late fall sunshine, and all the desired lazy afternoons spouting his brilliant theories while John rubbed his shins that ached from too much standing at a whiteboard. 

"I wish you could come hear these idiots," Rodney said one night in his apartment. "You'd teach them a thing or two about asking stupid questions."

"It's possible I listen sometimes." John butted his head against Rodney's shoulder, and Rodney felt a helpless wave of affection. 

"What are you—John...tell me you didn't—"

"There's an air shaft that runs almost directly next to your lecture hall...and who looks out airshaft windows these days, anyways?" 

Rodney shoved him. "Remember what I said about cameras?"

"No cameras! I looked." John spread his wings and rolled onto his back, taking Rodney with him and making the bed creak ominously. Rodney couldn't understand how it didn't bother John's wings to lie on them that way, but he did it all the time. He seemed to enjoy having Rodney on top of him. 

"Show me your gnome self?" John pleaded softly. 

Rodney shivered. He was naked, in John's arms. It was strange, that was all. But he did as John asked and reached inside for his gnome, invoking the Change and dropping his human skin. He felt himself grow heavier, felt it when John's arms tightened, and John groaned. 

"Oh, God." John wriggled underneath him, growing hard. Rodney got hard in reaction.

"Kinky," was his comment, and John laughed.

"I want to..." He squeezed Rodney's ass. "J’ai envie de te baiser."

Rodney groaned. "You would have to say that when I have class in an hour."

"I could fuck you quick?" John grinned, tongue on the edge of his teeth.

"Doesn't that sound like fun." Rodney gave it a second's thought. "Actually, it really does. Okay. Grab the lube—first drawer down, under the magazines. I'll be right back." Rodney made a quick trip to the bathroom and stopped short when he saw himself in the mirror. It had been too long since he'd seen his gnome self—his blond, curly hair and pointed ears, his big, wide-set eyes and broad mouth, his muscular form. He missed it. He should walk around as his gnome self while at home.

Hell, he should get a bigger apartment; it wasn't like he couldn't afford it. It occurred to him he might have been a little bit depressed or something. Just sort of going through the motions, forced to act human, living a life purely of science. 

John had changed that.

"Hey, what are you doing in there?" John yelled from the other room.

"Be out in a second." Apparently, gargoyles knew nothing of the modern conveniences. That just meant there were more fun things to teach him. Rodney grinned as he finished up his business and headed back out.

He found John lying naked on the bed, a loop of his tail squeezing his thick erection while he ran his hands over his torso, his eyes closed.

Rodney swallowed dryly, then croaked, "Hey, no fair getting a head start."

John opened his eyes and smiled, lifting a hand. "I'll catch you up quick." 

When Rodney approached and put a knee on the bed, he suddenly found himself pulled under and into a hot kiss. "You are so pretty like this," John said, his hand raking up and down Rodney's side with just a hint of claw to dig into Rodney's gnome skin. John bent down and nipped hard at Rodney's right nipple, making him arch off the bed with a sharp gasp of pleasure. 

"Please-please-please," Rodney said, and John obliged, doing it again, biting at his nipples while Rodney's dick sang his praises.

"Fuck me?" Rodney gasped finally, and John groaned and reached for the lube, dribbling it out onto Rodney's belly with embarrassing haste.

"Thanks a lot," Rodney said, but John ignored him, using him to smear his fingers thickly before rudely shoving Rodney's leg over his shoulder.

Secretly, Rodney delighted in the rough handling, and wondered how long it would be before John let it bleed over to Rodney's human form. Not long, he hoped, and then groaned when John pushed two blunt fingers inside him, stroking him, wetting him, opening him up for use. 

"You're good at that," Rodney said, and John flashed a grin and did something that made Rodney's eyes roll back and his legs jump. "Jesus. Okay, now you're just showing off." 

John chuckled, the low, raspy sound causing heat to pool in Rodney's belly as those finger kept fucking him, now a few of them twisting inside of him. "Please," Rodney said. "Your dick isn't that big." He might've been a little too breathless to carry it off, but John took him at his word and pulled away. And then huge and rigid, oh, God, John's cock pushed into him, and finally Rodney got to feel that intricate cockhead up close and personal, right where he needed it.

"Oh, Jesus." Rodney threw back his head and begged, "So perfect. Do it." 

"Oh, yeah," John said, and pulled back smoothly to push in hard. A rush of air had Rodney opening his eyes to see John's wings spread wide, his eyes gleaming as he cupped his wings then thrust again. Rodney moaned at the sensation and clawed his fingers on John's shoulders, the suede-soft skin deceptively tough. John picked up the pace, fucking Rodney harder.

"You like that?" Rodney said, scratching his blunt fingernails on John's chest, plucking at his dark red nipples. 

John hissed, his fangs appearing. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Rodney said, and he clawed at John's flanks, pulling him closer so he could ruffle under his wings. 

John closed his eyes and groaned. "Rodney, oh God." He rolled his groin tightly against Rodney's ass, and Rodney felt the pulse of his orgasm, saw it in the trembling of his wings. Rodney's heart trembled a little, too. 

"Sorry," John said, pulling away, and before Rodney could say anything, John stooped low and sucked the tip of Rodney's cock into his hot mouth, his thick fingers slipping inside Rodney's needy ass. Rodney relaxed and let John's fingers and mouth fuck him into a breathtaking orgasm. He felt it push into his chest, connecting his throbbing groin to his heart while John gentled him through it, fingers still softly moving inside him. He came back to awareness with John cuddled up behind him and nosing at his hair. 

"You're very pretty when you're coming," John said. "I didn't know gnomes could turn that shade of pink."

"Yes, well. I didn't know gargoyle's wings were wired to their cocks." 

John let out an explosive sound that turned out to be laughter, of all things. It injured Rodney's tender ears. 

"Hey, gnomes have sensitive hearing, you know!"

"Sorry," John said softly, sounded truly apologetic. He kissed Rodney's ear in apology. "I like gnome you."

"Yeah. I could tell. I think you're developing something of a kink."

John chuckled, his chest vibrating against Rodney's back.

Maybe Rodney was developing his own kink, at that.

:::

The weather was turning. Rodney didn't look forward to the days when it would grow too cold for him to visit John out on the patio. And, truthfully, Rodney lived in fear John would be caught sneaking in his condo window one night.

And then, one crisp afternoon, Rodney showed up at his office to see two students giving John a soap down. John had told Rodney they usually did it in the Spring, not the Fall, so Rodney stepped outside to get a closer look. The kids were scrubbing him with brushes and some sort of cleanser—Rodney would never let John live down the fact they used dish soap to wash him off. 

"What's going on, kids?" Rodney approached, zipping up his jacket. It had definitely gotten brisk out.

"Dean Caldwell asked us to give him a good scrubbing," a student with glasses said. The other added, "They're giving him away to Teacher's College. It's no fair." She reached up and petted his flank. "I think Caldwell has a crush on Dean Weir."

Rodney surprised himself with the flare of possessiveness that struck him. "They can't do that, can they? Doesn't he belong to Science and Math?"

Glasses said, "They're going to make some sort of teacher's lounge on the roof and they want break down the wall and move the gargoyle to create a nicer view for the professors." His tone was scathing.

"But...this is my patio," Rodney said mournfully. "And I like the view just fine." He knew very well John could hear what was going on and hoped he didn't quicken to give the Dean a piece of his mind. 

"Not for long." Glasses went back to scrubbing John's back with a long brush. It was true John's stone form had accumulated a fair amount of city grime, not to mention the dreaded pigeon poop, all of which miraculously disappeared when he quickened. Rodney would have to ask him about that. But the students had done a pretty good job cleaning him up, and he fairly gleamed as the girl ran the hose over him and rinsed away the suds. 

"He looks good," Rodney said grudgingly. 

"I wish we didn't have to give him up. Teacher's College doesn't deserve him." 

"I know," Rodney said, distracted. He'd only just found John, and now someone wanted to take him away. 

Rodney waited until the kids left with last, regretful pats to John's crystal clean wings before saying, "They're gone. Let's make a plan. Because I don't know about you, but I'm not letting the Teacher's College steal you from right under my nose, John. John?"

John remained still as stone. Literally.

"Don't be childish. This is no time for you to go dark on me; we have to strategize."

But John just sat there like a lump. Rodney started to put his hand on him to try to quicken him again when he heard a voice say, "You're talking to statues now?"

Rodney groaned under his breath and turned to see Radek sliding past the gap in the wall that divided his patio from the rest of the roof. 

"I'm simply going to miss this hunk of rock when they give him away to the Teacher's College." 

"I heard about this. I came to give my respects." Radek walked up to John and stroked him along his knobby tail. Rodney resented how handsy everyone seemed to be around John. 

"It seems unfair," Radek started.

"He's centuries old! He could be damaged in the move!" Rodney burst out. "What are they thinking? He belongs to Math and Sciences in any event. He's been with the department since he came over from France."

Radek nodded along. "And he is not an eyesore. They never asked, but I know the professors would be sorry to see him go. Me, especially."

"Exactly! Very, very sorry." Rodney's voice broke.

"Oh, for God's sake," John said, shifting to life. "He needs to know."

Radek gasped and stepped back.

"John, damn it!" Rodney's heart stopped.

"You were getting maudlin."

"I was not!"

"It's not like I'm being exiled to Canada. I'm just going across the street."

"What? What is happening here?" Radek raised one hand to his head and pulled at his hair. 

"Quantum alchemy," Rodney said.

Zelenka stared at him. "You mean to say the gargoyle statue and this person are entangled on a quantum level?"

"Oh, he's smart," John said, and Rodney felt a stab of jealousy. 

"Yes, but I'm the one who proved it using Bell's theorem, so."

"I don't—" Radek looked between them.

"I'm sure you're smarter, Rodney," John said, tongue hanging out, and Rodney jabbed him with a sharp elbow.

"So, you understand why I don't want the university to move him," Rodney said to Radek, who frowned hard.

"You don't want the University to move your favorite gargoyle, because he's alive." Radek shook his head. "Viděl jsem všechno."

"Maybe you can help. You're better connected than I am," Rodney said humbly. "Weir likes you." He clasped his hands together. "It would mean a lot to me."

"Me, too," John said.

"Hmm." Radek sat down heavily on Rodney's patio chair and sank into thought. Rodney went up to John and patted his wing.

Well," Radek said, breaking the mournful silence, "I might have a solution that would satisfy and still keep John's secret. But only if you promise to keep mine."

"Yours?" 

"I do so promise," John said solemnly, and poked Rodney with his tail tip, which was decidedly pointier than an elbow.

"Fine, fine. I promise," Rodney said. "Unless you're a murderer; then, all bets are off."

"You have such a strange brain, McKay," Radek said, standing up. He closed his eyes and said, "Please do not be alarmed." A moment later, he seemed to shrink and grow even skinnier, and his hair grew even wilder, until...

"A goblin! You're a goblin!" Rodney might've raised his voice a bit.

Radek raised his bushy eyebrows. Before he could say anything, Rodney shifted into his gnome form and stared challengingly at him. "I thought I smelled a goblin around," Rodney said. "I just didn't believe my nose."

"Ha!" Zelenka said. "Gnomes have no sense of smell or taste at all."

"Excuse me! Gnomes invented taste."

John broke in. "All I see is a couple of dopes." Rodney and Radek stepped back and shared a shamefaced look. "So, I take it your two peoples aren't buddy-buddy?"

"You could say that," Rodney said. "Centuries of bad blood. But...some goblins are okay, I guess."

"I have never met a gnome in person, so who am I to judge?" Radek admitted. "And we have a larger problem to solve."

"Right. You said you thought of a possible solution." Rodney gestured toward the chairs, and Radek took a seat beside him. John crouched in his usual position, wings curled around him and tail tucked around his feet. 

"It will rely on the assistance of my fellow goblins, who are skilled in stone working," Radek said.

"You...want to make a statue?"

"Of John, yes."

"Of me?" John looked wide-eyed. "But I'm already a statue."

Radek chuckled. "We will simply make a forgery for Dr. Weir to take. My most talented friends can magic it to fool carbon dating and to meld it to your plinth."

That seemed to shock John more than anything else. "You want to take my plinth?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "It only weighs about a thousand pounds. You wanted to take it with you?"

"Wherever I end up," John said. "And where is that, exactly?"

Rodney choked for a second, his tongue swallowing words his brain was conflicted about. 

"Rodney?"

"I thought...you might...and you're free to say no, of course. But you could, if you wanted to, live with me?"

"With you?" John looked stunned. "You mean, together?"

Rodney shot a glance toward Radek, who looked like he was watching a particularly bloody rugby match. "If we could have a moment?" Rodney said pointedly, and Radek shrugged and put his human disguise back on. 

"Very well. I will wait in your office. I thought I smelled some fresh coffee beans in there."

"You...damn it." Rodney had just purchased that pound of Joe's beans. "Fine. Just give us a few minutes." He turned back to John after Radek disappeared through his office window. "Don't you want to live with me? Of course, you might go straight through my cheap flooring if we don't teach you the human trick..."

"You want me to be a human?" John said with some distaste.

"It's not so bad. Food tastes really good; hell, sex is interesting, too."

John's eyebrows imitated a caterpillar. "Huh."

"Ha." Rodney pointed at him. "And that way, you don't risk going through my floor _or_ getting nabbed as a lab experiment. Win-win."

"But I like flying—"

"Pfft. You can go up on the roof any evening you want and take off. Go visit your gargoyle friends."

"You know about them?"

"I know there have to be others like you." 

"Yeah." John smiled. "I have some pals who live on top of St. John's."

"See? You can go visit anytime. Just, if you put on a human skin, you and I can spend more time together. You could even get a job to keep yourself in turkey sandwiches."

"A job." John tilted his head. "I've always been curious about what that would be like," he said wistfully. "And I'd like to...live with you. If you'll have me." 

Rodney felt his face heat. "Of course." He coughed. "I'll teach you the human trick later. Let's get Radek on board with the forgery, first. We don't know how much time we have."

John went back to his plinth and crouched over it possessively. Rodney shook his head. Come to think of it, maybe there was something he could do about that, as well. He'd see what Radek had to say.

:::

Over the next few days, their small patio played host to a number of wiry, frazzle-haired strangers who came with calipers, rulers, charcoal, pencils, cameras, and parchment and made John sit as stone for hours on end. Rodney made his own request and then made himself scarce to work on his HEFT interface. He met in the CAL lab with Dr. Emmagan to debug the sniffer code, delighting in her quick mind and nimble fingers on the keyboard, although he only nodded occasional approval for her good work. 

"Thank you, Dr. McKay," she said as she was leaving, still failing to meet his eyes, and she smiled shyly and pushed up her glasses once again before disappearing with her sticker-covered laptop.

"You have a way with our team." A voice interrupted his final note taking, and he looked up to see Dr. Weir standing in the doorway and dressed to the nines as if the opera were her next stop after the dingy lab. 

"They're quite competent," Rodney said in dismissal. It was easy to collaborate with a team that didn't suck. 

"Then you must be, as well," she said wryly, and Rodney sniffed, affronted. 

"Can I help you, Dr. Weir?"

"I couldn't help but notice a lot of activity lately around the French gargoyle that will be moved to the Teacher's College soon...the one just outside your office?" Weir said, dusting her hand over the replica of Carl Sagan's Pioneer plaque propped against the wall.

Rodney crossed his arms. "Yes. Some friends of mine from the art department are doing some sketches while he—it—is still undamaged. Who knows what will happen to it during such a potentially dangerous move?"

Weir raised her eyebrows. "Dr. McKay, there's no need to be such a doomsayer. I assure you, we will take every precaution to ensure the statue isn't harmed."

But Rodney found he was inexplicably enraged on behalf of the hypothetical statue John wasn't. "And yet, these professional historians somehow feel an eight-hundred-year-old statue deserves immortalizing before it's yanked from its perch and possibly damaged or destroyed. Funny." He slid his laptop into his satchel and stood. "Thanks for stopping by."

"Dr. McKay..."

Rodney stormed out.

:::

"And then I pretty much ended my hope of any future positions at the Teacher's College, not that I wanted to head any programs there," Rodney said, his head resting on John's lap while John played with his hair. He seemed fascinated with Rodney's gnomish blond curls. 

Beneath them, the floor creaked ominously under their combined weight. 

"Okay," Rodney said with a sigh. "We're either going to have to work on this human thing or start searching for a new apartment right away. I mean, eventually, I'd like us to get a new place—a sturdy, cement construction—we'll specify we have a grand piano to the realtor, so they find us something with the right tolerances. But for now, you really have to...find your human skin." He gave John a hopeful look. "Or we both can't be changed at once."

John slumped and said, "Okay. How does this work?"

"How does it work when you quicken? Let's start there."

"I...huh. No one's ever asked me that." He closed his eyes, his hand still moving idly in Rodney's hair. "I was born in stone, but my skin was already quick. Every moment his hands moved over me, brushing away the chips of gravel, Johannes spoke to me, coaxing me from the granite. So, my skin was alive, and I quickened fully for the first time when Abbot Suger leaned against me and said my name so fondly, so proudly just after I was created. For all I know, he was praising my creator, but he spoke to me and I came alive. I felt the fire in my skin—oh. I see." John blinked at Rodney and then closed his eyes again and turned to stone beneath him, his skin growing cold. 

Rodney sat up and stared. "John? John." 

A long moment later, John flushed with color and seemed to shrink, his wings dissolving like smoke, his hair and ears growing shorter but still pointed, and his features more refined. He looked distinctly...human, sitting there, slightly hairy, all too mortal.

"John," Rodney said breathlessly. "You did it!"

John looked down at his hands then stroked them down his thighs in wonder. "That feels weird." 

"Good weird?"

"Okay weird." John flashed him a smile, then reached up and rubbed a finger over his teeth, his face falling. "So dull."

"Can I?" Rodney asked.

"Sure."

Rodney stroked down the hair on John's chest and rubbed his left nipple.

"Oh! Wow, okay," John said. "Definitely good."

"Ha! Told you." Rodney used his gnome strength to drag John to his feet and push him to the bed; finally, they could be in a bed with no risk of having it collapse underneath them. John fell back with a _ploomph_ and a startled grin. Then Rodney crawled on top of him and started playing with his dark red nipples, catching one between his teeth until John groaned, his voice ridiculously high and breathy in comparison to his gargoyle self.

"Heh," Rodney said, looking down, and John gazed at him, dazed. 

"What?"

"Nothing." Rodney kissed his lush, full lips, and rubbed a thumb over the tip of John's cock, which he'd somehow failed to quite copy on the human anatomy front. Not that Rodney was complaining. "Nothing at all." He bent and sucked the tip of John's cock into his mouth, running his tongue over the ridged crown and grinning softly at John's disbelieving moans. Everything about John was new, fresh and untouched. Rodney reached under the edge of the duvet and came up with the lube.

John's eyes burned at him and he licked his lips, then opened his thighs.

Rodney's dick grew two sizes. He sucked John's dick back into his mouth and stroked wet fingers over John's tight hole, opening him slowly. The more he sucked, the looser John got, his hips jerking to the stroke of Rodney's fingers.

" _Baise-moi,_ " John said. "Fuck me. Please. I can't—" His hips twitched again, and Rodney withdrew to lean over him and kiss him, to kiss his flushed face and plump, lower lip. 

"Turn over," Rodney said, and John did, the knobs of his spine arching in relief, and then he dropped to his elbows and raised his ass. 

"Oh, God," Rodney said, kneeling close. He should switch back to his human skin to make this easier on John, except John liked him like this, liked him sturdy and thick, and so he held himself, thick and hard against John's hole, and pushed in. 

John made a small sound and rocked back, looking for more. 

"You want more?" Rodney smiled and pulled away, thrust deeper. "You get more."

"Oh, that's...that's...oh."

"You haven't?"

"Nah," John said, sounding dreamy. "The tail kind of got in the way."

Rodney chuckled a little, and John squirmed on his cock. 

"Whoa."

"You like that?"

"Please." John sounded breathless.

Rodney gripped his hips and pulled him onto his cock, moving him around easily, and John whimpered. Rodney kept it up, reveling in his strength and in John's greedy sounds. 

"Touch yourself," he suggested. "Work your cock."

"I don't...I can't..." John sounded like he was losing his mind.

"Here." Rodney gently pushed him down, staying within him, and kneed one of his legs up. Now he could fuck him right and still get a hand on John. He worked the sweet crown of John's cock with one rough palm and John squirmed and came almost immediately, his ass clutching at Rodney. 

"Oh, that's so nice. Thanks very much," Rodney said, fucking a little harder. 

John groaned and laughed a little. 

"What, I can't be polite? I'm very old Canadian, from...from..." He closed his eyes and focused on how gorgeous John felt, how lucky he was that he wasn't alone anymore, centuries now of being alone, but he had John now, and he felt John reach back and touch his hand and that did it. That did it. "Rupert's Land," he finished on a groan. 

"You're a goose," John said, shoving at him. "From where again?"

Rodney chuckled and rolled away. "Close enough to Canada, these days. A bunch of trappers and no-goodniks. Lots of gnomes and wood sprites. The sprites got pushed out when the beavers got over-trapped by Hudson Bay and those company-types. Fortunately, the gnomes knew how to adapt to human industry."

"Fortunate." John kissed his nose. After a while, he looked down and said, "Ugh. I guess I have to clean this up."

"That's one disadvantage, I suppose. But I'll do it, since it's your first time making messy human effluvium." Rodney smirked at John's outraged expression and rose to clean up in the bathroom and bring back a towel. He laid it down in the wet spot, and John rolled over and then dragged him back down to pull him close.

"It's not so bad," John said sleepily. "Playing human, I mean."

"Uh-huh." Rodney grinned to himself and kissed the tip of John's still pointed ear. He'd still have to invest in some better flooring.

"I'm gonna miss my plinth, though." John sighed wistfully and then fell asleep. 

Rodney stilled, amazed. John had, in the past few months, lazed in the sunlight, or turned to stone before him, but he'd never, as far as Rodney had seen, ever fallen asleep.

"Well, how about that?" Rodney said and followed him under.

:::

The next few weeks were pretty stressful, as the deadline for the removal drew ever closer, and Rodney visited the warehouse where Radek was pushing his goblin friends to complete the forgery in time. Rodney didn't know what could happen if John were damaged while in stone form, but he goddamn didn't intend to find out. They had to get the forgery in place.

John, on the other hand, seemed to have taken a more philosophical stance. Or maybe the idiot just thought he was invulnerable, having endured so long. But he did stop by the warehouse often, apparently fascinated by the process of watching himself being replicated, chisel mark by chisel mark. He also brought the goblins copious amounts of coffee and green tea that they downed in batches.

For goblins, they weren't a bad bunch, Rodney had to admit. And they accepted payment in gold bullion or bitcoin. 

"You don't think the copy will quicken, do you?" Rodney asked John.

John looked worried for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think he's loved enough."

"Huh."

"For you, John," Radek said, walking up to him and handing him a laminated card. 

John held it delicately between his fingers and grinned down at it before passing it to Rodney.

"John Sheppard," Rodney read. "You spelled it wrong. Good picture, though."

"I thought a tiny bit of discretion advisable," Radek said. "Not that it's likely anyone will connect John's human form with a medieval statue." He passed John an envelope. "The rest of your papers. With these, you can find employment necessary to keep Rodney in coffee."

"Thank you, Radek," John said. "Anytime you want to go flying, you let me know." 

Radek's eyes widened. "To be sure."

The goblins, Mr. Strul and Ms. Klenq, finished the carving exactly one day before the scheduled move. The statue looked almost like John but was subtly wrong in detail, and Rodney despaired.

"There's no way Weir is going to fall for this!" he ranted at Zelenka. "It's a pretty good forgery from afar, but once it's sitting in front of the Teacher's library in full view...?"

"Trust in us, Rodney. Now move back, the trolls are here."

John and Rodney watched, fascinated, as the two trolls wrapped up the statue and loaded it onto the electric cart for its short trip to Pupin Hall. It was the middle of the night, and the procession looked more like a street sweeper's brigade than a clandestine goblin operation. The two trolls immediately shifted to human skins after moving the statue to the cart, and they wore NYC Sanitation worker overalls. The goblins, including Radek, followed in front and behind in Parking Control Officer uniforms, looking officious. 

Rodney and John, in their human skins as well, went on ahead of the slow-moving cart, and when they reached the front door of Pupin, executed their finely tuned distraction plan—Rodney went inside and got the gruff-but-friendly security guard to unlock the men's bathroom on the other end of the ground floor, while John used Rodney's keycard to open the front door and helped the trolls sneak the statue in and up the stairs. They'd all agreed taking the elevator would be a big mistake, as the one-piece load limit of the old elevators in Pupin were less than 500 pounds, and the forgery weighed twice that. 

Rodney finished with the diversion, thanked the guard, and rode the elevator to the top floor to wait anxiously at the stairs, surprised he could barely hear their shuffling steps as they crept up, step by step, with their heavy load. He heard an occasional curse from Radek at the slowness of the pace, but finally they appeared. Tix, the smaller of the two trolls, gender unknown, asked for a breather, and John went down the hall to bring back a coffee cup filled with water for the large being. 

"Thanks," Tix ground out. "Where to?"

"First door on the right, here, and then we're going to have to tilt it to get it through the window frame. I removed the window ahead of time," Rodney said hastily when Tix's eyebrow went up.

"Let's have at it. C'mon, Cax, I want that PlayStation." 

They made it safely through to Rodney's office and closed the door, everyone heaving a sigh of relief, and then there was a lengthy discussion about which angle to tilt the statue at in order to most easily get it through the window. Finally, John solved the argument by demonstrating himself, with wings cocked, the best way through, and then John and Tix held up the statue and angled it through, with Cax and Rodney on the other side to catch it, the goblins watching anxiously from the patio. 

After that, it was simply a matter of placing it on John's plinth. 

"A little to the left. No, not that far. Merde!" John came over and tapped the left claw of the statue. "This. Flush to the corner, here. Thank you." He gave his plinth a sad little pat and stepped away.

Finally, once it was lined up, Klenq gestured to John. "If you please? Make the pose beside it."

John sat next to the statue in the same pose, turning to stone. Rodney got an uneasy feeling, but before he could say anything, Klenq put one hand on John and one touching the statue where it met the plinth, and she mouthed some words. The feet and claw of the statue melted, something shifted, and suddenly, astoundingly, the statue looked precisely like John.

Klenq stepped back and let out a gust of breath.

There was a moment of silence, and Radek said. "Well, that went well."

Except John didn't quicken. He was still stone.

"John?" Rodney moved forward when John didn't respond. "John!" Either John was playing a prank, or something was seriously wrong. Rodney's heart stutter-stepped in his chest. He touched John and said softly under his breath, "John-John-John don't do this to me you bast—"

John lurched suddenly to life and turned toward Rodney, his eyes wide. "I couldn't—I couldn't—I was—"

"That much was obvious," Rodney snapped, recovering from the fright. 

Klenq said, "I'm sorry. That was completely unexpected, but then I've never copied a living statue before." She shrugged.

"Yes, well, you should've—"

"Not your fault," John interrupted. He brought Rodney around to look at the forgery. "Wow. Good job, Klenq. You, too, Strul." He reached out and touched it, sounding a little freaked out. "Um. I guess it worked. Thanks, everyone." 

"Indeed. Bitcoins should already be in your accounts," Rodney said. "Many, many thanks."

"Seriously, thank you." John clapped Cax and Tix on the shoulder, and then bowed to the goblins. 

"It will be nice to sit by the statue and have lunch," Strul said. "No one will ever know goblins made it." He and Klenq shared a grin.

"Enjoy your Play...Station?" John said to the trolls. "I still don't understand what that's about," he said under his breath to Rodney.

"They should write a game after you, man," Cax said and, with a nod, he and the others filed off. 

Radek lingered by the window.

"Radek, I can't thank you enough," Rodney said. "If you ever need a favor..."

"Well, I could use help recruiting more investigators for the HEFT." Radek grinned widely. "It's a lot of work." 

"Oh my God. Fine. Fine. See you Thursday."

"Seven a.m., sharp," Radek said, stepping through. "You bring the coffee."

Rodney grumbled and waved him off. 

"C'mon," John said. "I'll get the window back on and then I'll fly you home."

"You know I hate to fly."

"I know. That's why it's so much fun."

While Rodney waited, he took one last look at the doppelganger of John perched on the plinth. It really was an amazing likeness. He wondered how the University planned to get it transported to street level without a couple of trolls to do their heavy lifting. A big crane, perhaps? Rodney made a mental note to work from home that day.

"Ready?" John said, and he took Rodney into his arms. 

"Oh, hey—take me to my roof. There's something I want to show you." 

John nodded, and with mighty push, he leaped into the air, wings beating hard before he dropped into a long swooping dive toward the roof of Rodney's condo building. Rodney's stomach dropped on the approach—he hated this part—and then John cupped the air with heavy beats of his wings and landed lightly, dropping Rodney to his feet without a jolt. 

"Nice landing," Rodney said sarcastically.

John nodded smugly. "Thanks. What did you want to show me?"

"Oh, just this." Rodney waved at the corner of the roof where he'd placed the carbon fiber replica of John's plinth. 

"My plinth!" John smiled wide, his fangs gleaming. 

"Almost. It's coated in concrete but it only weighs about a tenth as much as your plinth. Still, it should last an eternity of your broody perching."

"I do not brood."

"Mmm-hmm."

"I'm just people watching."

"Well, there's a nice jogging path in Riverside Park right below here so there should be plenty of people to watch."

"Nice." John's eyes glowed with the coming dawn. "Thank you, Rodney." He pulled Rodney down next to his plinth, wrapping his arms around him, and it was just like on Rodney's patio—sheltered from the wind and prying eyes, a private place for just the two of them. He'd lost nothing at all. 

He let John poke him into a comfortable position until John could lay his head in Rodney's lap.

Rodney tilted his head back against the wall and stroked John's hair. "You know, it's getting late. Or early, I should say. I need to get up soon and get ready for class."

"Hmm. Not yet. Stay with me." John somehow made himself heavier on Rodney's lap, becoming immovable. Via quantum alchemy, Rodney suspected. He continued to stroke John's hair. 

"Okay. No rush. We have plenty of time." And now, they really did. 

John made a rumbling sound of agreement that followed Rodney into sleep.

 

.........................  
October 3, 2018  
San Francisco, CA

 

  
[](http://www.squidge.org/~esteefee/gargoyle_john2.jpg)  


Please visit [Mific's art page!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16349420)

 **No sequels are planned for this story** , but I invite any and all to write their own, and dream of people writing fusions in other fandoms. All my worlds and characters are available for remix/reuse. GARGOYLES, GNOMES, AND GOBLINS for all! Happy Halloween. 

For artistic license, I've taken the facade and location of Columbia's Teacher's College, which is a much more gothic-looking building than Pupin Hall (where CAL is). Pupin and TC are across the street from each other on campus. [Here is the TC building](http://www.squidge.org/~esteefee/deptmathscience.png). I mean, the only thing missing is a rose window. It's cray how much real estate Columbia owns in NYC. The campus has moved all over the city in the past couple of centuries. I think Joe's Coffee used to be a Chock Full o' Nuts, but I'm not clear what year it changed and the name is a little distracting if you're not familiar with it. So I left it Joe's.

HEFT, or the High Energy Focusing Telescope, was a project co-directed at Columbia University in 2005 (check out the hilariously outdated website: <http://www.srl.caltech.edu/HEFT/people.html>). The other players were CalTech, DSRI (Defense & Security Research Institute), and LLNL (Lawrence Livermore) For anyone interested, here is a cool article about the evolution of balloon telescopes: <https://appel.nasa.gov/2013/05/13/building-a-better-telescope-the-legacy-of-nasas-balloon-missions/>

Balto, the heroic malamute (statue in Central Park): <https://www.centralpark.com/things-to-do/attractions/balto/>

Statue of Athena on Columbia's Low Library steps. [You can see why we called her Alma Mater](http://www.squidge.org/~esteefee/athena.png)  


NY Public Library Lions:  
[https://www.nypl.org/help/about-nypl/library-lions ](https://www.nypl.org/help/about-nypl/library-lions)

John was also inclined to visit his buddies the gargoyles at the top of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in NYC, but John was originally from the Basilica of Saint-Denis in France: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basilica_of_Saint-Denis a notorious hot-bed of court intrigue (and that later fell out of disfavor after the French Revolution, and it's very possible that bits of cathedrals *like* the basilica were sold off for parts. Thank you to my favorite medieval academic, Siriaeve, for her awesome research help. 

Goblin Name Generator: <http://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/goblin-names.php>

Bitcoin.org wasn't registered until 2008 but maybe goblins were magically ahead of the curve. Hey, it's a good joke!

**Author's Note:**

> Final note: the statues in this are very, very loosely based on a children's book I vaguely remember reading about a kid who woke a stone griffin, who asked the kid to wake all the statues of NYC to attend a statue moot? I used to pretend to "wake" my stuffed animals to have nightly moots after that. 
> 
> Try as I might I cannot find the book or title. It's even possible I dreamed it up. It's not the Stoneheart trilogy, which I only discovered when I went looking for my children's book after I'd already named this story. HA. Neither is it The Stone Lion. But if someone else remembers this book I would be eternally grateful to hear of it.
> 
> ETA: thank you, Info Hob, who found the book! It's [Stoneflight](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4008020-stoneflight) by Georgess McHargue. ♥

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Esteefee's "Stone Heart"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16349420) by [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific)




End file.
